


Dislocated

by Aptemis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabbles, Ficlet, Fluff, Grumpy!Sherlock, M/M, Shmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aptemis/pseuds/Aptemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a small ficlet for my friend. I hope you enjoy!</p><p> </p><p>Written by iFranceskate</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dislocated

Sherlock sat stony-faced on the couch, clutching his arm as John huffed into the apartment with several grocery bags stacked in his stout arms.

"You alright, Sherlock?" John queried, shooting a concerned glance at him as he set down the multitude of groceries on the cluttered kitchen table.

"Fine. I'm fine." Sherlock lied, eyes still fixed on a point just above the mantelpiece. John strode over, hovering over his flat mate's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked, slightly suspicious. John wasn't ignorant; he knew a dislocated shoulder when he saw one. Years of military training had graced him with that knowledge at a single glance. Sherlock grimaced, still avoiding John's eyes.

"Nothing I can't fix." Sherlock grunted, clenching his teeth. John rolled his eyes, exasperated. He crouched down and placed his fingers on the detective's shoulder, eliciting a pained groan in response.

"Dislocated, as I thought. You're going to need help popping it back in." John cupped Sherlock's jaw hesitantly, "Look at me."

How Sherlock had managed to dislocate his shoulder, John didn't know. It wasn't unusual, of course, to come home to his flat mate nursing various injuries. Since the terror-inducing situation at the pool, Sherlock had been more wary of dragging John into dangerous cases. Now, it seemed, John was becoming a stay at home doctor, which irked him to no end.

"Fine, yes." Sherlock muttered, wincing as John adjusted his position, bracing one hand against Sherlock's chest. The flat was silent for a moment, save for the barely audible whines of discomfort from Sherlock. His eyes flicked reluctantly to meet John's.

"I'm going to count to three." John began, steeling himself, "Just keep looking at me, alright?"

Sherlock nodded marginally, setting his jaw.

"One-two-," With a swift rotation, Sherlock's shoulder popped back into place with a sickening crack. The detective howled in pain, his face contorting in agony. He inhaled sharply, regaining composure.

"Done, it's all fine." John soothed him, placing a comforting hand on Sherlock's knee. He leaned forward slightly to place a chaste kiss on the detective's lips, drawing away quickly.

"You alright? Any discomfort?"

"No, no that seemed to do the trick. Thank you—John." Sherlock flushed, his tone brusque and distracted.

"You're welcome," John sighed, straightening up and returning to the mundane task of storing the groceries away in the little cabinet space they had. Sherlock rose as well, hesitantly rolling his shoulder, brow furrowing. He shuffled into the kitchen and began to assist John with storing the food. They stood in silence for a moment, John casting an affectionate glance in Sherlock's direction.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight from now on." He stated, sliding a carton of eggs beside a tub of what looked like severed ears, "I know you feel like you have to protect me, but I assure you, I'm fully capable."

Sherlock only nodded, still massaging his aching shoulder, "Right, yes, fine."

"I'm serious, Sherlock!" John rounded on him, planting his hands on his hips. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but inclined his head once more.

"I'm perfectly fine with that proposition." He smirked lightly, "In fact, there's a rather exciting case I've been working on for some time—a butcher gone rogue; very promising."

"No, nope." John crossed the gap between them and seized Sherlock by his lapels, dragging him once more to the couch, "You need to rest that shoulder."

He pinned the protesting detective to the cushions, tugging a blanket over him.

"But—," Sherlock wriggled, trying to break free, but John held him down.

"Doctor's orders." John managed a wry grin, kissing Sherlock's forehead as he scowled petulantly.

Not twenty minutes later, Sherlock Holmes was fast asleep, his lanky limbs splayed out in impossible angles. John, trapped underneath a thin pale arm, huffed in amusement, suddenly completely content with being a stay-at-home doctor.


End file.
